Trust Issues
by DixieH
Summary: Eames propositions Goren and he turns her down? You’ve got to be joking! Set in the first six months of their partnership at Major Case


**Disclaimer:** These characters belong to Dick Wolf and not to me.

This idea has been percolating since I heard the following exchange during the interrogation of a suspect.

(Episode unknown - extra points if you remember!) - Dix.

**G:** My partner has notoriously bad taste in men.

**E:** Married men - my special torture.

**Synopsis:** Eames propositions Goren and he turns her down?!? You've got to be joking! Set in the first six months of their partnership at Major Case

**Trust Issues**

If you're looking for a private place to have a personal conversation there's no place like the squad room. There are cops and lawyers and witnesses and suspects everywhere. They're sitting beside you, leaning over you, sitting on the corner of your desk, passing by or standing behind you waiting for the copier or the fax or the filing cabinets.

It would appear that privacy is the last thing you would find in this place, but the truth is they're busy people and they don't give a crap who you're talking with or what you're doing. That doesn't mean they aren't above listening to your private conversations. In this environment, sometimes knowing what the people you work with are dealing with at home makes dealing with them on the job a little easier.

Listening in is a lost cause with Eames. She makes and takes personal calls, but I can honestly say I've learned less from them than from the office grapevine. And what I've learned from her own mouth directly is damn little in the six months we've worked Major Case together.

- - - - -

She's sitting on her chair, but she's rolled it away from her desk. She's bent in the middle. Her elbows are pressed into her knees. Her cell phone is pressed to the side of her head with one hand and the other is splayed across her face. She's not saying much.

"Right."

"OK"

"Of course, I understand."

"Yes of course."

"Look I have to go."

At least she's not saying much that tells me what this phone call is about.

Finally, she closes the phone with a snap. When she looks up and rolls forward on the chair, I can see that she is drained. Her face is pale and there is a watery quality to her eyes that make me wonder if she might cry. She sees the questions in my face and gives me a hard "don't say a word" look. So I arrange my features in an inscrutable blank and ignore her obvious pain.

The rest of the afternoon, we spend chasing leads on a new case and completing the files for a couple of recently closed cases. She speaks when necessary and then quietly and without force. Late in the day, she pulls a file out of her desk drawer. Without a word, she takes the file, her note book and a pen into the conference room. She's been called to testify on a case she closed before we were partnered. She's reviewing her notes and the case file to ensure that her testimony is above reproach. After six months, I know she is honest. She's still at it at six. I knock on the open door as I leave. She is startled, but manages a wave in response to my own.

When she arrives a little after nine the next morning, I can see by the dark shadows that whatever started yesterday afternoon continued though the night. She doesn't say much, but looks at the clock constantly trying to judge the best time to leave in order to be in court on time. While she's testifying, I plan to run some leads on our current case. She walks away without saying anything. I know that when Eames has nothing to say, things are really bad.

I hear about it before she gets back. She's been gone nearly three hours when I hear Deakins answer his phone. I can't hear what he says, but he's sets it down with more force than necessary and I hear an epithet cross his lips that he rarely uses. I wonder what or who has him so angry. He doesn't leave me wondering long. From the door way he says, "Goren". I swivel in the chair and look his way. "Send your partner in when she gets back."

She looks like hell when she gets back. Before I can speak, Deakins is calling to her. She gives me a look that radiates anguish. When she comes back to her desk, I look her in the eye. I don't say anything, but she looks ready to take my head off anyway.

"I screwed the pooch," she says, telling me in the crassest way possible not to ask any questions.

I want to say that everybody is entitled to a bad day now and again. God knows I've had my share, but instead I focus on the paperwork on my desk. At quitting time, I get her attention.

"Eames," She looks up. "Let's go get a drink."

She looks at me a long moment. I know she's wondering if I'll probe too deeply or if she'll be able to keep her secrets. I keep my face an unthreatening blank.

Finally, she shrugs and nods. "Yeah, let's go."

- - - - -

We're at the regular place, surrounded by familiar faces. This is life on the job. After a long shift we drink together rather than return immediately to our lives. Eames and I sit at the far end of the bar away from the door. We sit side by side careful not to let our knees touch under the counter or our hands on top of the bar. She orders a double vodka tonic and I order a beer. She doesn't say much. Unsolicited I give her my thoughts on our latest open case. She seems to be listening, but I think she's not really paying attention. The bartender slides by and she orders another drink. I'm nursing the first, waiting - hoping.

After the second drink arrives, she begins to open up. But she opens up on the offensive.

"You been married?" She asks glancing up at me.

I nod. It's something she's never asked and I've never shared. She raises one eyebrow in surprise at my response.

"Really?"

"My high school sweetheart." It isn't a story I want to share, but it seems the only way to get through her hard exterior, so I continue. "It didn't last." I offer. When she doesn't respond, I continue, "I joined up, got deployed. She met somebody else." and then I add, admitting more than I'd like to "and I did too."

"Before the divorce or after?" She says sharply.

I take a sip and look away from her. I don't have much time to decide what to do next. I turn on the stool.

"Who's this about?" I ask gently.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Men," she says finally raw emotion underlining the word.

I nod, waiting. When she doesn't say anything else, I ask, "What happened?"

"He's going back to his wife." She says and then finishes the drink in a single gulp and sets the glass down with force on the polished bar.

"You knew he was married?"

"Separated he said. Getting a divorce he said. It's only you baby he said." She shakes her head and toys with the glass. "When am I gonna learn?" She says this under her breath.

I'm surprised by her candour. She's told me almost nothing about her past or her present. Someone else told me about her dead cop husband. She is unwilling to trust herself with a man in her private life or on the job it seems.

"Married guys are safe." I say aloud, instantly regretting my intrusion.

She turns on me with fire in her eyes.

"Safe? What the hell does that mean?" She says this through clenched teeth.

I reach for my beer and slowly take a sip. By the time I set the glass down, she's relaxed a bit. I try again, "You can't commit to a _married_ guy. No commitment no pain."

She looks away, but I can see her expression in the mirror behind the bar. In her eyes and on her face there is nothing but pain.

The bartender goes by with a rag and she gives him a nod. He looks at my full glass and keeps going. He's back a moment later with another drink. "You drive'n?" he says to me. I nod and Eames makes a face.

"Looks like everybody's looking out for me tonight."

"I'm your partner." It's not the word I want to use. I want to say friend, but it's too soon.

She nods and sips the drink. Before she can finish it, I pay the tab and then I drive her home in her car.

"Take the car." She says.

I shake my head. It's after 10. I know it'll only take me half an hour to get home but it'll be sixty minutes back to pick her up in the morning and ninety minutes more to get into work.

"'I'll grab a cab to the subway." I say with conviction.

I stand in her kitchen. She crosses the floor and comes back with the phone book and the phone so I can call a cab. I reach for the phone, but she doesn't let go. She looks me in the eyes as our hands touch and I'm startled by the clarity of the invitation in her eyes.

"You could stay," she says, so I can't pretend not to understand. She's let her guard down finally, but this isn't the trust I crave; this is fear. And because I understand, I don't do what I want to do. I want to pull her into my arms and cradle her against my chest. I want to kiss her breathless or … I stifle further thought in this direction.

I can't betray her trust. She's had a lot to drink. And I know it's the drink and the hurt talking and I also know that if she was anyone else I'd take her up on the invitation. Nothing I like better than riding to the rescue. But in the end this wouldn't be a rescue operation. This would be a disaster.

If I stayed, I would be as untrustworthy as the bum that just dumped her and the husband who had the nerve to get himself killed in the line of duty. She'd run from Major Case and she'd run from me. I know her trust in the world doesn't extend far. I can't betray what little confidence she has in me. She has to mop this one up on her own. And to my sorrow I have to let her.

I back up and say nothing. She lets go of the phone. I hope the booze makes her forgetful.

- - - - -

The next morning she comes into work a little more slowly than usual. She's still wearing unhappiness like a shield, but she looks less tired. She sets a large coffee on my desk and gives me the gift of a small smile. She struggles out of her jacket and drapes it across the back of her chair.

"I owe you," she says quietly across the desk.

I shrug wondering what will come next.

"No really. I appreciated the shoulder last night" She steps closer "and your -"

Here she hesitates. The right word is elusive and slippery. "Restraint," She says finally, nailing how I feel now - restrained. "Most guys …" She continues and then looks around to see who might be listening.

I put a hand on the coffee and take the opportunity to interrupt her. "Most guys wouldn't be so stupid as to turn down the invitation of a beautiful woman." I say quietly. I look up at her then and hope she's seeing what I'm feeling which is both regret and hope. She shakes her head and tears well in her eyes. She squeezes my forearm and turns away. I sip the coffee and wonder about the future.

Fin

_**Thanks for reading this. As always I crave your comments, suggestions and reaction. - Dix.**_


End file.
